sunset season — castor. & jackal.
Oct 17, 2019 10:12:16 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 17, 2019 10:12:16 GMT -5
it was summer when i saw your face
looked like a teenage runaway
oh god i never thought we'd take it that far
some killer queen you are
looked like a teenage runaway
oh god i never thought we'd take it that far
some killer queen you are
castor wright had always been too brash, too confident.
he was a stalwart house in a storm that, instead of bolting his own windows shut, welcomed its peril. danger sparked a rush inside him, gunpowder licking up the flare, and he was ablaze every time, with scars seared upon his skin. if one had been burning long enough, the flames became merely air to them.
“is that all you’ve got?” the smirk upon his face was honed blades strung together. he eyed the fellow in front of him, a burning gaze that swiftly became a taunt. the other was stout-jawed, a boulder of a man that seemed to have been arisen from the earth, every muscle and bone upheaved grandly. he snarled and then he lunged at castor. but, a mountain couldn’t harm a fire; the latter would merely scorch everything along its wake. the fist that soared towards castor’s ribs was something he’d foreseen moments ago and he evaded it, movements a feline’s grace, eyes a hawk’s. he exhaled an unkind laugh before he kicked the man’s side with a blade’s force.
the other plummeted.
dust motes whirled and danced in the shafts of sunlight that had leaked in from the backalley’s cracks and crevasses; castor shone golden with sun and blood.
“are ya’ gonna stay down?” using the tip of his shoe, he shoved his ankle questioningly. “i have to meet my boyfriend in an hour so, you better do that.” from the sidelines, the betters’ eyes glistened with speculation; breaths became held. then, the man’s fist thrummed on concrete—one, two, three—and every throat erupted in a cheer. castor exhaled a breath he himself had held back. the battle had been won; there would be no more dark bruises to add to his collection today.
fighters such as himself were recommended warm baths to soothe the aching, but castor preferred the sting from the cold spray of the showerhead. he scrubbed away the blood from his skin, although jackal said the smell always lingered upon his collarbones and neck-crooks. he untangled the matted heap of dirty blonde threads without much care, raking through it with calloused fingertips. the shampoo had run out, its bottle cut at the neck and used as a makeshift toothbrush-holder now, so when castor stepped out of the shower, he smelled sickly of cheap detergent.
outside, the sun had become sunken.
the sky was threaded with lilac and pinks, the dark of crows returning to their nests a stark contrast to its soft colors. after the little dirt that caked his leather boots was brushed away, they weaved their way through rundown tenements, leapt over pools of streetlights, and followed a road they’d come to know all too well. when jackal and castor first stumbled upon the houses near the district’s edges, they thought of as concrete wildernesses, all cracked plasters and houses empty of firelight.
but, the quietness, the serenity, had astounded them and they discovered that empty rooftops made the greatest hideouts. so, these houses became their secrets:
the ruins and the shells.
he found him near a beige-colored ruin. jackal le roux had no need to announce his presence because that regal aura of his would forever do it before him. he was aflame, always: stars in his veins; gold in his eyes. castor felt as though he was a hopeless moth. the other walked closer to him and nudged his elbow with his arm. “hey,” jackal said and smirked, making the ruins around them become awash with firelight for seconds’ worth.
“hey,” castor returned the greeting and the smirk. “sorry if i made you wait.” a fingertip curled into the loop of jackal’s trousers and he used that to tug the other closer. but, before a kiss could be shared, castor pulled away, the laughter—raw and pure—that he reserved for jackal, escaping his throat.
the withdrawal was partly to tease jackal, and partly to make sure the other couldn’t see the fresh bruises upon his form, their lilac depths and edges.
“c’mon, i’ll race ya to the top,” he used his thumb to point at a house’s rooftop. “last one there is a sore loser,” castor shrieked to the boy before racing to the dark ivies that cascaded down the house’s hollow ribs. wildly, with hands that’d grown familiar to this, he climbed towards the violet summer sky.
so come a little closer
there was something i can tell ya
you are such a rollercoaster
and a killer queen you are
there was something i can tell ya
you are such a rollercoaster
and a killer queen you are
lyrics: bleachers - rollercoaster
